Mother and Child
by AChurningTwister
Summary: A series of drabbles and oneshots about Elphaba and Liir. Bookverse.
1. In the Nursery

**In the Nursery**

The blasted infant just wouldn't stop crying. Soon it would wake the others and then she'd have a dozen bawling children to attend to instead of just one. She had half a mind to hex it. She looked around for help, but the other maunt had muttered a hasty 'good luck' and fled from her replacement's silent weirdness. Even the most pious had their prejudices, she thought, suddenly reminded of Frex.

She had no choice. Slowly, awkwardly, she picked the baby up and held it to her, feeling its warm breath on her shoulder. Even through the swaddling cloth, she thought she could feel her ribs jutting into plump flesh. She braced herself for louder screams, but it (he? she?) calmed with miraculous immediacy.

A glob of spittle blotted the shoulder of her thin robe and she flinched. Cautiously, she manoeuvred the baby until it rested in her arms, mercifully asleep. She was rather out of touch with this mothering business; she hadn't touched a child since Shell was young. She rocked it a few times experimentally, but it only snorted comfortably and wriggled further into the crook of her elbow.

As she gazed down upon the odd contrast of white on green, she felt something akin to tenderness stir within her and smirked. Her hands, accustomed to handling daggers and bombs, vials of poison and threatening letters, now cradled this infant as if it were her own. She wondered wryly what Glinda would have thought.

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A/N: I'm thinking of turning this into a series of drabbles about Elphaba's relationship with Liir. Please let me know if I should continue! Oh, and the baby is Liir, if you hadn't guessed.  



	2. Names

**Names**

She looked around at the writhing, knee-height mass of children, trying to commit all their names to memory. The administrative maunts had come earlier that week to dole out monikers, and she could already pick some out of the crowd. That was Olera, with the downy halo of hair wisping about her face; there, Dunuro and Jysach; Dann cowered in the corner, with Clian pulling his hair. She mouthed the names over and over, entranced by the Gillikinese syllables that echoed the incantations of spells.

One of them tottered up to her and fell into her skirt, clumsily getting back on his wobbly feet. He beamed sunnily at her, and though she'd never admit it, that melted her heart. Liir: he had been the noisiest of the bunch when she'd started out, always squalling and screaming, but now he remained staunchly silent whilst the others were goo-gaaing with impunity. She was beginning to wonder if he might be deaf. Not that she cared, of course.

She reached down and scooped him up, her smile mirroring his in spite of herself. She nearly dropped him in shock when the child chose this moment to reveal his first word.

"Mama."

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A/N: Just a cute little bit of fluff and fore-shadowing. I hope it wasn't too out-of-character for Elphaba. 


	3. Lullaby

**Lullaby**

A brood of Scrow women huddled around their fire and gave suck to their young, their mild chatter winding its way towards the caravans. Liir stared at first, fascinated by this barbaric yet tender display. Then he checked himself, blushed and turned his eyes away: the women were naked save for a string belt around their waists.

The elderly set of travellers had already excused themselves for the night and the rest were beginning to yawn shamelessly. Even Killyjoy had flopped down somewhere; Liir could hear his claws scrabbling in the throes of a rabbity dream. The boy remained perched on the edge of the wagon, still and silent as always, legs dangling in the tepid, musky air.

He tried to imagine any of the few caravan women carrying a child like those Scrow women, but he couldn't. Most of them were either too young or too old; the former ignored him completely and the latter treated him like an infant grandson, propositioning him with sugary sweets and wet kisses. Oatsie, no. She was kind enough, but too coarse, and her croak of a laugh would make any child's ears hurt. As for the green maunt…

He remembered her from the mauntery, always surrounded by a menagerie of children who had grown up unafraid of her greenness. When he had been an infant running around the children's room with no pants on, there had always been dark skirts to clutch when he stumbled and emerald hands that soothed with surprising tenderness. She said nary a word, merely growling ominously and supplying sharp paddles to the bottom whenever the rough tumble of bodies turned ugly.

When he'd been a little older, he would awake in the middle of the night to hear a lullaby, and he would see her gripping the windowsill, gazing fixedly into the shadowy glass as if she were seeing into another world. He would drift off again to the rare sound of her voice and the sweet melody it spun, as if it were an inseparable part of the night itself.

One day, he'd been told to pack his few belongings and leave with a Sister Saint Aelphaba; he was not told where or why. But she had looked at him with no sign of recognition, and during the course of the journey had exchanged neither a single word nor the slightest nod with him.

In the moon's hazy glow, he spied the first of the camels plodding back through the distant darkness. He crawled into the shadow of the canvas and feigned sleep, vaguely hoping she would come and sing her secret lullaby again. He didn't have to pretend for long.


	4. Homecoming

**Homecoming**

She alit shakily in the courtyard of Kiamo Ko, half-expecting Nor to come running from some alcove. The cumulative shock of the past few weeks must have taken its toll on her. She was actually glad for the absence of a welcoming committee; the throng at the service and at Avaric's soirée had induced a brief spell of sociophobia in her.

"Now where've you been?" Nanny scolded when she was finally found to be in the sitting room, absently rubbing Chistery's hackles up the wrong way. "It's almost time for supper. Would you tell Liir, wherever he is? It's cheese, his favourite."

Elphaba's lips stretched into a taut smile (Liir hated cheese) and she gave the old woman a dismissive peck on the cheek before heading for the tower. The boy was slouched on the bottom step, humming an oddly familiar tune. He looked up as she approached and rose to his feet. He must have grown while she was gone; he was now only a head shorter than her and she suddenly remembered that he was fourteen.

"You came back," he said stolidly, but Elphaba caught the traitorous waver in his voice. The Witch's only response was a curt nod as she swept up the stairs in a flurry of skirts, leaving Liir staring fixedly at the spot where she had stood.

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A/N: I'm a little leery about this one. Set after Nessa's death and veers a little from the book. Please review! 


	5. Nor

**Nor**

"Manek says Auntie Witch's your mother."

"Well, Manek's stupid, and I'm not green. See? Hurry up, s'your turn."

But she refused to let the matter rest. "Maybe you were adopted," she ruminated as her block joined the sprawling mosaic on the ground. "Like Chistery."

"Chistery's a monkey, not a boy. He can't even talk. And she can't be my mother anyway. She doesn't act like one."

"Hey, you can't put that there." She waited until he had moved the offending piece before asking, "What d'you mean?"

"She didn't give me anything for Lurlinemas. She doesn't hold me or sing or let me sit in her lap like your mother does," he rejoined brusquely, eyeing her gradually diminishing pile. "She doesn't even tell me stories."

"Maybe she just doesn't know how," Nor observed sagely.

"Why not?"

"Maybe she didn't have a mama."

Silence at that, only the soft click of wood on wood.

"Ha, I win," she crowed as her last tile finally slipped into place.

Liir scowled, bit his lip savagely. He hated losing. Nor started a victory whoop that echoed through the courtyard, while the ivory pips of the dominos glowed in mute triumph.

_Stupid Nor. What does she know anyway?_

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A/N: My little tribute to Nor, who gets left out of everything :) 


	6. Water

"_Watch this." _

He obliges, guilty with anticipation, as the water swirls in slow, steady waves. Manek surreptitiously nudges the table a little harder and the glass itself starts to teeter dangerously. Liir thinks of telling Five next to him, who is casting sidelong glances at the last pasty and sighing _well if you must insist_, but too late: with a decisive drive of his foot, Manek succeeds.

All heads turn as their guest leaps up with a shriek, a shining splash arcing towards her. The beaker shatters, a chair overturns, Killyjoy yelps excitedly: chaos. Three clucks apologetically, bustling off to fetch a broom and dustpan while the rest of the sisters snigger into their palms. Manek and Irji snort knowingly and Nor cackles with unbridled glee; even Sarima has to bite back a smile. Auntie Guest simply glowers and crossly bats away Six's half-hearted attempts to dab at her dress.

Yet the air still reverberates with the naked terror he saw slicing across her features. If even someone as fearlessly barbed as she shies away from water, what hope can there be for weak, frightened Liir? Liir, who runs from spiders; Liir, who slinks around the castle in fear of Manek's blows; Liir, who tosses sleepless on his pallet and imagines all sorts of creatures in the dark corners. Manek's taunting words echo in his ears: _Auntie Witch is your mother_. He reaches out tentatively to the small pool of water slowly dissipating into the stained tablecloth, but his finger retracts damply unscathed. He suddenly feels very small and tired, and, like a lost child, he begins to cry.

"Stop snivelling, stupid boy," Auntie Guest snaps venomously, reinstated at the head of the table. He wishes then that someone would throw a bucket of water at the old Witch.


End file.
